


swimming upstream down oceans of joy

by leigh57



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh57/pseuds/leigh57
Summary: “Tonight was the first time he’d ever felt the word “home” at the edges of his mind and the tip of his tongue.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’d try to make some excuse for this, but there just isn’t one. The more the show makes me cry, the more smushtastic my writing gets. So this is a non-zombie au in which Sophia is still alive.
> 
> The title is from Rickie Lee Jones’s “Running From Mercy,” which I’ve been listening to on loop for the past day and a half.

*********************************************************

At 2:37 a.m. -- when he realized he'd been staring at the glowing green digits of the clock on the bedside table for fifteen minutes -- he gave up on sleep.

Sucking in a breath when the soles of his bare feet hit the cool hardwood, he cursed himself for leaving his thick fleece slippers (a moving-in gift from Carol) downstairs. He shrugged shivering into the hoodie he retrieved from the floor, glancing at Carol to make sure he wouldn't wake her. She was buried so deeply under the covers that all he could see was the pink edge of her cheek and the soft silver of her hair, but her shoulder rose and fell in a light, even rhythm that assured him he'd have no trouble sneaking out of the room without disturbing her.

Downstairs, he flicked on the muted light above the kitchen sink, poured himself a glass of water, and leaned back against the counter, studying his surroundings while the fridge hummed low and his heart hammered in an unsettled way he couldn't explain.

_________________________

She'd asked him if he wanted to move in with her a little over three weeks ago, her words a jumbled rush while she twisted one of her earrings and looked more at his left shoulder than his eyes. He could still hear the echo of anxious uncertainty in her voice when she said, "But if you don't want to, that's totally okay. I just thought it would be nice if-"

"Stop. I want to."

"Really?" The wide blue surprise in her eyes made his knees feel funny.

"Yeah, really. Definitely." He took her face in his hands and kissed her, grinning like an idiot against the strawberry chapstick on her lips, and when her hands wrapped around his wrists he noticed they were trembling.

So he pulled her closer and kept kissing her until finally he felt her body relax a little in his arms, until she let her tongue tease over his lower lip, until her cold fingers snuck under his henley to dance up the muscles of his back and over his shoulder blades.

He loved kissing her, but that wasn't the only reason he didn't let her go.

Mostly, he needed a few moments to school his face so her uncanny intuition wouldn't read him like a large print book and discover that the night before, he'd bought her an engagement ring (a simple sapphire surrounded by a circle of tiny diamonds) that was now hidden deep in one of his toolboxes that sat on the workbench in the garage.

He wanted to ask her.

God, he wanted to ask her.

He'd never been so convicted about anything in his life, never so comfortably positive that there was only one right choice and he was making it.

(Which didn't mean he was any less terrified of the part where he actually popped the question. Fifteen times a day he caught himself in the middle of daydreaming up a new way to propose, the voices in his head engaged in endless combat over which approach would work best. Should he go traditional -- fancy dinner with expensive wine followed by dropping to one knee before she kissed him goodnight? Or would she be more relaxed if he kept the whole thing casual -- grabbing her hand and turning her toward him on an after dinner walk, their shoes crunching through the autumn leaves?)

For all his nerves and imagined scenarios, one thing he knew for sure. He couldn't ask her now, because her automatic assumption would be that the invitation to move in with her and Sophia had forced him into it.

Nothing was further from the truth, but that didn't keep him from fighting a daily war against all the insecurities her ex had hammered into her mind. (And into her body, but he had to discipline himself not to spend too much time on those thoughts, because although Ed had shown no intention of violating the restraining order and had moved to North Carolina six months ago, Daryl had memorized the fucker's address. Every now and then, if he'd had one too many beers or he noticed Sophia jump when he accidentally closed a cupboard too hard -- and then look embarrassed if she met his eyes -- he'd fantasize about getting on his bike and driving straight up there.)

_________________________

Moving from his crappy studio apartment into Carol's house had been even easier than he'd imagined, at least logistically. He'd spent his entire life being careful not to accumulate any more stuff than he could easily relocate with a few free hours and the bed of his truck.

Now his jeans were neatly folded in the new chest of drawers Carol had picked out (she'd managed to convince him to narrow the choice down to three, but that was as far as he'd go when he knew she'd spent more than a decade of her life being told exactly how everything had to look), his toothbrush was in the holder next to hers on the sink, and the keys to his bike were hanging by the front door.

So he had no idea why he felt so jittery and on edge, when everything his senses took in felt comforting.

Sophia's green backpack leaning against the wall, all ready for school in the morning, but with the biggest pocket's zipper left open so she could slip her lunch in before heading out the door. The halfway-burned apple cider candle Carol always lit the second she walked inside, its faint scent mixed with the lingering tang of garlic from last night's marinara sauce. The calendar tacked to the wall by the living room entryway -- circles, asterisks, and multicolored notes in both Carol's flowing loops and Sophia's larger, rounder print. Three pairs of shoes waiting by the front door (his work boots ridiculously huge in comparison to Sophia's sneakers).

He'd lived in so many houses during his life that he'd honestly lost count.

But tonight was the first time he'd ever felt the word "home" at the edges of his mind and the tip of his tongue.

_________________________

"Is something wrong, Daryl? I can't usually sneak up on you." Sophia's whisper startled him so much that he almost spilled some of the water he was holding. He glanced up to see her regarding him with puzzled concern in her eyes; her expression reminded him so much of her mother that he felt his throat close a little. She was wearing a Wonder Woman nightgown, the red and blue sleeves already getting too short on her 12-year-old arms.

"No, 'm fine. Couldn't sleep so I came down to get some water. What the hell are you doin' up?"

"Language," she teased, a grin lighting up her small, tired face.

"Sorry," he muttered, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

"I'm just kidding," she said. "But you're blocking the water glasses."

He moved aside and opened the cupboard to hand her one, then waited while she filled it and took a few swallows. Finally she sighed, rubbed a finger against the corner of her eye, and said, "My first volleyball game is tomorrow and we're playing that team from Chesterfield, the ones with the burgundy embroidered names on their jackets." She stared at the floor. "I'm just nervous because they're supposed to be really good.”

"'S'okay. You're really good, too." He stood straighter as if that might add emphasis to the message.

One side of her mouth quirked up, but she shot him a skeptical glance. "You're only saying that because Mom told you you're supposed to build up my self-esteem or something, right?"

"'M sayin' it because it's true!" he exclaimed. When she didn't respond, he waited a beat, then added, "I mean it. Not swearing you'll win, but you know how to play."

She twisted a purple hair tie around her fingers, looking about seven-and-a-half instead of twelve. "The eighth graders get so mad if we don't do everything perfectly." She sighed, and his mouth tugged into a smile at the indignant edge to her words when she added in a mumble, "Like they aren't always choking when they try to spike."

"You want some hot chocolate?" he asked, figuring it might be a good time to at least attempt distraction.

"Yeah, but you'll be in trouble if Mom wakes up and comes down here."

He grinned, reaching for the Quik on the top shelf. "I'll risk it, just this once."

_________________________

Sophia stirred her hot chocolate in circles, tapping her feet against the rung of her chair and sinking the mini-marshmallows so she could watch them float up again. He'd given her probably twice as many as Carol would have, but he figured hey, she was nervous. It couldn't hurt, just this once.

She must have decided her cocoa was cool enough, because she finally braved a small sip before fixing him with that look -- the one she sometimes got when she was working on a particularly difficult math equation or trying to figure out the perfect word for one of her English essays -- and said, "So I told you why I'm awake. Why are you down here? Did Mom start snoring or something?" She picked up what was left of a tiny marshmallow and stuffed it in her mouth; the childlike gesture hit him with a wave of longing to have been there when she was three, or six, or eight.

He chuffed and shook his head. "No reason. Sometimes my mind jus' won't shut up."

She nodded. "I know what you mean." The expression that flashed over her face for half a second made her look easily three times her age. "Tonight I even tried actually counting sheep."

"I hope it's not because-" He cleared throat and tried again. "Are you sure you're okay with me moving in?"

"Nope, not okay at all." She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "I've actually changed my mind since the last thirty-four times you guys asked me." She took a long swallow, and her face went solemn as she shifted her gaze from the cup back to him. "She laughs now, you know?"

"What?"

"Mom," Sophia replied, her voice quivering a touch in a way it hadn't been a second before. "She laughs. All the time. Real laughs. The kind I can hear in my bedroom even if I'm up there doing my homework with my headphones in and you guys are down here in the kitchen making dinner." She paused, pushing at her marshmallows with the curve of her spoon. "It's just really-" She shrugged, as if trying to shake off some darker thought she didn't wanna deal with. "Nice. To hear her laugh like that."

Daryl could feel his ears burning. (He sucked at responding to compliments, and was in a constant state of trying to fight his natural instinct to shrug them off.) He was working up to a stammered response when he heard footsteps and Carol's amused voice behind him.

"Why are you two down here drinking hot chocolate at three in the morning?”

He turned and looked up at her, his insides doing that embarrassing thing they apparently planned to do forever each time she walked into a room. Her hair stuck out in wispy waves and there was a tiny line across her right cheek where her face had been smushed into the pillowcase.

"It was his idea!" Sophia exclaimed, pointing her finger in mock accusation, although the giggle in her voice suggested she might have been a co-conspirator.

Carol raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Was it really?"

Daryl nodded vehemently. "The hot chocolate's my fault. Soph just wanted a drink of water."

Carol pulled out a chair and sat down; she reached for his hot chocolate (he secretly loved it when she stole his food) and took a long sip, her eyes flitting back and forth between him and Sophia. Finally she said to her daughter, "Why were you up in the first place, honey? You still worried about the game?"

Sophia nodded, her fingers fiddling with the sleeve of her nightgown. Carol reached out and ruffled Sophia's hair. "I think you'll be amazing, but I also think you should go turn on that new soothing sounds app you got -- maybe the waves or the rainforest -- and try to go back to sleep."

"Okay, okay. I'm going." She went into the kitchen, and Daryl heard the clink as she rinsed her mug and put it in the sink. She brushed past them in a red and blue blur, and she was almost at the top of the stairs when she called, "Have a good sleep! Love you guys."

The casual way she included him made his throat hurt for the second time that night.

_________________________

"You can't sleep?" She pushed his hot chocolate back towards him and grabbed Sophia's spoon, capturing the last two soggy marshmallows at the bottom of the cup. "Was I snoring? Is the bedroom too cold? I can get another blanket from the hall closet if you-" She trailed off when he shook his head, grinning.

"I don't need more covers. Everything's great." He knocked his knee against hers under the table, and his voice felt uneven in his throat when he said, "'M just gettin' used to it. Never used the word 'home' before when I wasn't talkin' about somebody else."

Her eyes went shiny and she reached for his hand, cool fingers squeezing his. After a long, quiet moment she said, "Is something else bothering Soph? Your conversation looked more serious than volleyball."

He cleared his throat. "She said it's nice to hear you laugh for real."

"Oh, god." A tear tracked down her cheek, and she looked like she was somewhere else for half a second before her eyes focused on his face again. "You know what I love now?"

"When I make you cry in the middle of the night?"

"Smartass," she shot back as she reached for his hot chocolate. "The garage door opener."

"Why?"

"You know that little squeak it makes when it starts to open?"

"Yeah, it's on my list of stuff I should check out."

"I used to dread that noise." She circled her thumb over the mug's curved handle. "Sometimes I'd forget what time it was; I'd be baking muffins or coloring wish Sophia, and I wouldn't realize until I heard the door."

He locked his jaw until the muscle twitched, holding her hand while he waited for her to continue.

"Now when the door squeaks, I can't stop smiling."

"Good. And if that ever changes, I hope someone beats the shit out of me." Even in the semi-darkness he could see the slight flush in her cheeks, and it made him feel three times warmer than all the hot chocolate in the world. He leaned forward to press a quick kiss against the chocolatey sweetness of her mouth. "We should try to sleep," he said, shoving his chair back.

"Yeah." She reached for his cup, but he gently stopped her arm.

"You go on up. I'll get the dishes."

"Are you sure?"

"Think I can handle it." He smirked, and she rolled her eyes at him as she walked towards the stairs.

_________________________

When he pulled the bedroom door shut, Carol caught him entirely off guard by reaching past him, clicking the lock into place, and running her palms flat over his chest until her fingers were gently brushing across the back of his neck and through his hair. "I have the best idea for how we can both get sleepy again," she whispered. And then she was kissing him -- soft and warm and chocolatey and searching -- while her body pressed up against his, the light cotton of her sleep shirt a barely-there barrier. He responded with a low, vibrating hum, his body reacting to her instantly the way it always did. But a small voice somewhere in the back of his head kept him from complete surrender, forced him to double check what was happening here.

"You wanna have sex at whatever the hell time it is?" He mumbled against her mouth, her lips so distracting he was impressed he'd made a sentence.

Even in the dim light, he could see her face go instantly pink, and she let him go, arms dropping to her sides. "Well I was kinda-" She bit her lip. "I mean if you don't want to that's-"

"Hey." He caught her hands in his. "Hey, will you look at me please?"

It took a second, but eventually she lifted her eyes and looked at him, confusion and uncertainty radiating off of her. (Some small part of his brain that he could never quite switch off hurled creative chains of curses at her dickhead ex-husband, the reason she still second-guessed herself every time she worked up the courage to ask for sex.) "If you're in the same county, I wanna have sex with you." He lifted her hand, kissing each knuckle one by one (he thought about the sapphire, what it might look like on her skin), and the hint of a smile erased the lines of concern between her eyes. "The same state." He pulled her to him, kissing his way up the side of her neck to that magic place just under her left ear, and he traced a circle there with his tongue, smiling when he felt her breath catch. "The same country." He started with her temple and kissed his way down her cheekbone, closer and closer to her lips. "The same contin-"

"Shut up and do it then," she whispered, the dance of her voice both a request and a dare.

He didn't need to be asked twice.


End file.
